


Third Time's The Charm

by ros3bud009



Category: Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Amnesia, Basically I rewrote the reunion in rid15, I've been thinking about this shit since like 2016, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Reunions, Sorta Sequel to Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 19:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19933348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: Optimus knew that something was missing.But of course he did. Returning from the Allspark unable to remember how he had found himself there in the first place was indication enough that he was missing quite a bit.---------------------Sorta sequel to Second Chances and rewrite of their reunion in RID15





	Third Time's The Charm

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Second Chances](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6279388) by [ros3bud009](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009). 



> Wow I can't believe that halfway through 2k19 I wrote in the Second Chances canon again oops oops
> 
> I do want to specify that I say sorta sequel because this is not THE sequel. There was never and will never be THE sequel because there is not one outcome after the events of Second Chances. I think it's better without a concrete "what happens next" thing. This is just one of the possibilities
> 
> After rereading it a month or so ago because of some friends talking about it, and then thinking about RID15, and THEN having spotify recommend THE song that inspired Second Chances in the first place, well. I was weak. I decided to just do the damn thing
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!!

Optimus knew that something was missing.

But of course he did. Returning from the Allspark unable to remember how he had found himself there in the first place was indication enough that he was missing quite a bit. Bumblebee had nearly had a conniption when Optimus asked him what had happened since Unicron.

The fact that they had to figure out that Optimus meant the first encounter with Unicron – that there was a _second_ at all – was all too perfect an example of just how much there was to catch up on.

And yet, for the hours upon hours that Bumblebee would stay up telling Optimus stories, it was obvious there was something missing. No matter how smoothly Bumblebee tried to glance over details, Optimus could see where there were significant details being omitted. Holes in the story. Decision he was meant to have made – _did_ make – that left Optimus feeling a dissonance within himself.

A pity in Bumblebee’s optics when he would jump topics; a pity that Optimus couldn’t discern if it was for him or not.

It was frustrating.

Because if it weren’t enough that there were parts of his life being purposefully kept from him, his spark had begun to _ache_. It _ached_ and _longed_ and nothing Optimus did proved capable of smothering it. It seemed to take on a mind of its own, insolent in a way it hadn’t been since he was still a young Prime.

The walls that had served Optimus so well for millions of years were nowhere to be found.

Even reaching down towards where the Matrix was interlocked with his spark was unfamiliar. Oh, it was in many ways the same – those same stern and melancholy threads of wisdom that had helped shape Optimus into the leader he had become. But now, among them, was a new voice, just as wordless but so much more optimistic and supportive. A kind-sparked plea that Optimus could not begin to interpret.

It was unsettling to realize that it was in fact himself. The very amnesiac version of himself that had run wild in his frame for such a short time but had done so much, had _changed_ so much, and left Optimus floundering to find the pieces left behind and try to find himself again.

Something was _missing_ , and he _ached_ , and the very cause had left his mark in the Matrix, loud and proud but inscrutable.

And no matter how hard Optimus tried to convince Bumblebee to tell him, Bumblebee wouldn’t crack.

“I’m sorry, Optimus. Really. I want to tell you, but it’s like—it’s complicated and I don’t know all the details and—and I’m sorry, it’s just not my story to tell, you know?”

“Then who can?”

Bumblebee had swallowed hard, and it was only when Optimus sternly insisted “ _Bumblebee_ ” that the warrior broke.

“Once Fixit has our interstellar comms fixed, you can call Ratchet. Promise.”

And Optimus’s spark had swelled, threatening to choke him as he realized the longing was in many ways all too _painfully_ familiar.

Had he remembered their relationship? Had he known about their breakup? Had he, all these millions of years later, faced the fresh agony of being unable to hold Ratchet all over again? Was that the longing and ache in his chest? The ages old scar torn open anew?

The Matrix pulsed, trying to catch his attention, but Optimus refused to dip into it.

No longer able to push the quiet panic down and contain it like he once could, and no longer able to trust the Matrix to act as it once had, Optimus managed to say, “I suppose I will have to wait then,” before excusing himself.

And that pity had been in Bumblebee’s optics.

But then days had passed.

Weeks.

Months.

There were other problems to be dealt with. A new team to integrate with. A friction with his former scout and his own new role that Optimus could not have foreseen having to grapple with.

It became easier to ignore the glaring gap in his memory. It wasn’t particularly relevant with a team of bots who had never known him beyond reputation before his resurrection, and the circumstances that they found themselves in were more directly the result of the post-war environment on Cybertron than Optimus’s actions before his sacrifice. Bumblebee was the only bot who had known the amnesiac Optimus, but he had shared all he was willing to about him, and now even Bumblebee was far more focused on the Optimus in front of him and how they butted helms.

Optimus’s spark still ached with an intensity he hadn’t known for millennia. But he had weathered worse, had ignored the ache when it had still been fresh, and he would do so again.

Even if now the Matrix, once a helpful tool, felt alien in his chest.

But.

Ratchet was still alive and well.

So long as that was true, Optimus could weather the pain his love caused him as he always had before.

* * *

All at once, reality slammed into Optimus.

There had been no warning. No way for Optimus to prepare himself.

Though he doubted it would have made any difference.

No amount of frame changes could hide the fact that before Optimus stood his oldest and dearest friend. The moment his optics landed on him, Optimus was struck helpless against the deluge of relief and affection and comfort he had long come to associate with Ratchet.

And _oh_ had Optimus missed his old friend, sparkache be damned.

There was no fighting against the way his lips curled up slightly at the corners as he said, voice full of the warmth he felt filling his chest, “Ratchet.”

The heavy pod under Ratchet’s arm dropped to the ground despite the efforts of the minicon at his side, but the medic didn’t so much as flinch at the resounding crash. His optics were flared as bright as ever Optimus had seen them, spiraled wide open, laser-focused on Optimus.

Finally, after a moment, his optics flickered as he asked, incredulous, “Optimus?”

And Optimus’s mouth further curved into a gentle smile, his long legs quickly bringing him close enough to clasp Ratchet’s upper arm. The medic flinched at the touch, optics impossibly spiraling wider and brighter as he looked down at it and then back, disbelief warring with seemingly a million other emotions on his face.

Optimus squeezed his plating comfortingly.

“It’s good to see you again, my old friend.”

“But you – you were gone, destroyed,” Ratchet insisted. His gaze seemed torn between tracking down Optimus’s frame and back up at his face, evaluating and dissecting in an attempt to understand, servos twitching at his side.

“The Primes rescued me just before my spark was extinguished,” Optimus explained. With every second that passed, every moment that he pressed against Optimus’s servo on his arm as if to test it, Ratchet’s optics flickered and the disbelief chipped away bit by bit.

Slowly, his servo finally moved from where it had fidgeted at his side, and Ratchet pressed his palm to the center of Optimus’s chest.

And Optimus knew his sensor-laden servo would find what it was looking for – the pulsing of a strong and very much alive spark.

“By the Allspark,” Ratchet whispered. His optics shone not only with emotions, but now Optimus could see the sheen of optical cleanser gathering. And, finally, Ratchet _smiled_ , and Optimus swore his spark tried to break its way out of his chest to curl into the safety of Ratchet’s digits.

“Oh, _Optimus_.”

And then Ratchet was stepping in even _closer_ , servo sliding up to catch Optimus by the nape of his neck to pull him down into a sudden, unrelenting hug. Ratchet’s frame trembled even as his arms held Optimus tight, face tucked into the junction of neck and shoulder, and Optimus could feel his warm ex-vents against his plating as Ratchet rambled, “I thought – you were gone, and I never thought I’d ever get to see you again, and I— _Primus_ , Optimus, it was so hard, I—”

Optimus’s spark burned in his chest, caught between how he shouldn’t but also how he _wanted_ so desperately, and before he knew it he was hugging Ratchet in return, bringing him impossibly closer.

But then Ratchet was pulling his chest back, servo finding Optimus’s jawline, and there was cleanser dripping down Ratchet’s face as he leaned in and—

And—

“Don’t you dare leave me again,” Ratchet said, half growl and half plea against Optimus’s mouth, “don’t you _fragging_ do that ever again,” before he pressed in yet again and—

Primus.

Ratchet was kissing him.

The kisses were harried, almost painful with how hard Ratchet pressed in his emotional state, nothing more than lips crushed against lips, yet Optimus felt as if his whole world was falling away beneath his pedes and he didn’t have the strength to fight against it.

His processor stalled. Thought was impossible. All Optimus knew was Ratchet’s frame where it held him, _kissed him_ , and the supernova that was his spark, fit to bursting in his chest.

Optimus was at once grateful and devastated that Bumblebee interrupted.

“Whoa, _whoa_ , wait, Ratch! Ratchet! Wait!”

Ratchet turned his helm towards Bumblebee, but his arms stayed possessively around Optimus. And Optimus—

“Bumblebee! It’s good to see you!”

—Optimus could scarcely _vent_. He wasn’t sure he could move if he tried. Not when his processor was finally starting to catch up, and what—what was happening?

“Uh, yeah, you too, but listen. Optimus, you see, he doesn’t—I don’t know why, but he’s the old Optimus again.”

 _How_ could this be happening?

“What?”

And now Ratchet was looking at him again, confused, and Optimus’s spark _ached—_

How could he let this happen?

“Optimus?”

It took a moment for Optimus to reboot his voice box around the shame that was quickly choking him.

“I do not remember anything that happened after Unicron.”

In truth, it wasn’t especially quiet after that. Some small part of Optimus’s processor was aware of the half-whispered hisses and questions from the young team in the background and Bumblebee trying to shush them irritably and herd them away.

But Ratchet was quiet and it felt deafening.

Slowly, the servo on his jaw moved again, so slowly as it skimmed his cheek up closer to the side of his optics, _so so_ slowly as Ratchet’s thumb swept under Optimus’s optic.

Optimus didn’t know what Ratchet saw in his gaze.

But whatever it was, it had Ratchet’s mouth curving into a wobbly smile as more cleanser welled in his own optics, and he murmured, “It really _is_ you.” And then he chuckled, the humor in it at odds with how wet and emotional the sound was as cleanser spilled down his trembling face. “‘My old friend’ should have really tipped me off, huh?”

“Are you—?”

“Fine,” Ratchet interrupted, shaking his head dismissively at Optimus’s worry. “I’m fine, I just—I’ve—” Ratchet’s face twisted as he swallowed hard, cycling a shaky ventilation. Even through the tears his smile was warm. “I _never_ thought I’d meet you again, old friend. I’ve missed you so, so much.”

Optimus wasn’t sure how his spark had managed to not burn itself out as it _roared_ with a storm of emotion. But now—

Now it seemed to ease as the ugly and irrational and _selfish_ fear he hadn’t realized he even held – the fear that Ratchet might have wished it had been the other Optimus who had returned – was assuaged.

And Optimus felt his own optics grow wet.

“I’ve missed you terribly, Ratchet,” he admitted quietly, aware of how his voice belayed the ache of his spark.

An ache both new and tremendously old.

He was so tired. Had been for so long for so many reasons. Tired and frustrated and alone.

And now, without the walls around his spark or the chastising judgement of the Matrix, Optimus had no way of keeping that pain from spilling over.

So it was impossible to resist Ratchet’s warm, comforting servos as they drew his helm down into the crook of his neck, allowing him to hide his face as his oldest, dearest, most _beloved_ friend held him.

“It’s alright,” Ratchet murmured against his audial, soothing despite the hitch of his ventilations showing how Optimus was far from the only one overwhelmed. “We’re both here now.”

After a long, slow intake of air, Optimus nodded.

“That we are.”

* * *

Between Bumblebee and Ratchet’s minibot partner, by the time Ratchet and Optimus had gathered their wits and untangled themselves the team – and stray Con – had all disappeared, leaving the two to make their way back to base alone. Optimus could have commed Fixit for a pick up, but neither he nor Ratchet seemed in a rush to meet up with the rest. Neither even suggested transforming, instead simply walking in the general direction of the road. It gave them time to talk about Optimus’s revival, the team on Earth, Ratchet’s partner and work as a bounty hunter.

They walked close enough to one another that occasionally their armor brushed.

And finally, Optimus couldn’t ignore the gentle but insistent nudges from the Matrix.

“May I ask you about what happened? When I had amnesia?”

Ratchet’s plating pulled in close for a moment, but before Optimus could think to rescind his question, Ratchet said, “Of course. But I have to say I’m surprised. Did Bumblebee not take the time to tell you?”

“I believe he’s told me most of what happened,” Optimus admitted. He turned his helm enough to meet Ratchet’s gaze and his pulserate quickened. “But I know there’s something significant that he is unwilling to share with me, believing I should hear it from you instead.”

Ratchet huffed with a roll of his optics, but there was little venom to his tone as he said, “Coward. Not that he isn’t right, but still. That’s a hell of a thing to keep from you.”

Ratchet’s stride slowed to a stop, forcing Optimus to turn on his pedes once he’d accidentally overtaken his friend. And Ratchet looked, of all things, embarrassed as he cycled a ventilation.

“When you lost your memories related to your Primehood, you still remembered when we were together before the war but had lost the hows or whys of our breakup,” Ratchet stated, blunt and to the point. Yet he still paused, gathering his courage before continuing, “I didn’t bring it up, so you followed suit, but it didn’t stop you from pursuing me again.”

Optimus’s spark heaved at the knowledge that he had been right, he had been right about his amnesiac self’s draw to Ratchet, the inevitable sparkbreak. And yet—

“But you kissed me,” Optimus blurted, confused.

Ratchet’s expression further twisted as he nodded, optics flitting down towards the ground.

But if that was the case, then—

“Did we—?”

“Yes. We did.”

Optimus’s processor stalled. It didn’t make sense. It had been so long, and he had hurt Ratchet, had hurt their relationship for so long, and Ratchet had seen other mechs, Optimus had never meant to pry but he heard things, found out by proxy, how could they have—

Ratchet’s servo slipped into Optimus’s, pulling him instantly from his thoughts to focus on the warmth and strength of Ratchet’s digits.

“I never stopped loving you, Optimus,” Ratchet admitted softly, almost shy. His plating rattled nervously, but Ratchet continued, “I know you thought I did – _think_ I did – and I can’t blame you for it. I had been so sure that _you_ had stopped loving _me._ But I didn’t stop. Even when I tried to stop, when I lied to myself by repeating over and over again that I had, I hadn’t. I couldn’t. And you were the one who finally managed to rip that fact from my cold stubborn spark.”

Ratchet’s digits trembled where they held Optimus’s.

Optimus wanted to close his servo around them.

Wanted to hold Ratchet.

Wanted to tell him, finally, after all these ages.

Wanted to say anything at all.

But he couldn’t. Optimus felt choked by the shame of before as his processor overclocked with circular arguments, because he _couldn’t_ , it was how he had lived for so long, trapped in the fortress he had built around himself.

Loving Ratchet and denying himself the possibility of being loved in return was as natural as ventilating. It didn’t matter that apparently Ratchet _did_ love him, because he couldn’t.

He _couldn’t_.

But the Matrix disagreed. The voice – his own unrecognizable voice – poured out in stern disagreement.

And then Ratchet was squeezing his hand, comforting him as he said, “It’s alright. I understand. It took two months for you to finally wear me down, and I was a damned mess the whole time.” While Ratchet couldn’t hide the pain pulling at his expression, the empathy was palpable in his voice and the caress of his thumb along the back of Optimus’s servo. “We’ll talk. Cry. Yell. Whatever we need to do. We can figure this out.”

Then, after a moment, a hard swallow, and shaky ventilation, Ratchet managed to add, “If you want to.”

And finally, looking down into Ratchet’s optics, Optimus understood the kind plea echoing out of the Matrix.

He _could_.

He could love Ratchet _and_ be loved in return.

It seemed impossible, traitorous, _selfish_.

But his own voice reassured him that that was ok too.

And, finally, Optimus closed his servo around Ratchet’s.

“I do. I want to try.”

And, finally, _finally_ , Ratchet smiled up at him again, and it wasn’t fair how handsome he was.

“ _Thank Primus_ ,” Ratchet whispered before realizing what he had said. His face scrunched up in embarrassment, but this was at least the sort that was endearing to see as he scrambled to regain the dignity he seemed to think he lost. “W-well, anyway, we should keep moving. There’s a lot of story to tell, but it’s in no way longer than this walk will be if we don’t get walking!”

“Very well, Ratchet,” Optimus agreed easily. Ratchet nodded, committed now, and he started to walk again, passing Optimus when the Prime didn’t immediately follow after.

He didn’t let go of Optimus’s servo either, so when Optimus still didn’t follow, Ratchet came up short before looking back.

“Optimus?”

Optimus almost didn’t say it. Almost allowed himself to simply follow Ratchet’s lead and let the desire pass.

But instead he managed to blurt out, “May I kiss you?”

Ratchet stiffened. His optics cycled wide open while his mouth hung slight agape.

But then he stepped back in, nodding but speechless, and his face was hot when Optimus tentatively cradled it with his free servo. It was reassuring to see that Ratchet looked nearly as shell-shocked by what they were doing as Optimus felt.

Four million years was a long time.

But one more reassuring pulse was all it took for Optimus to finally lean down and kiss Ratchet. It was little more than lips pressing together, softer than before, slow and unsure and sweet.

And Optimus knew what he had been missing.


End file.
